If
by Allison Jakes
Summary: {{chapter three UP}}Vaughn Family Saga: When Grace needs help, who will she turn to? The answer may surprise you.
1. Chapter One

**Title: If…**

**Author: Ambrose Chavez**

**Email: agent47achavez@hotmail.com**

**Category: general**

**Spoilers: s1**

**Rating: pg13 for sexual references**

**Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters are not mine.  They're JJ's, but they're on my Christmas list!**

**Notes: Takes place in the past. **

'Ship:  William C. Vaughn/Grace Michelle Vaughn 

**Summary:  If anything should happen to me… **

**Song: "Good Man" by India.Arie**

**A/N: one parter… **

Grace Michelle Vaughn sat back in her favorite leather chair and sipped at her hot chocolate, a year round guilty pleasure.  Lately, she had been missing her husband so.  His work was sometimes overwhelming and time consuming, but she loved him enough to understand.  She curled her legs up beneath her and reached over for the novel she had checked out of the library two days ago, _With This Ring_.

A hopeless romantic, Grace smiled as she set her cup aside and glanced up at the antique frame on her nightstand.  The picture was taken in black and white, and showed her hiked up on William, piggyback style, one arm around his neck and the other desperately trying to hold onto her suede cowboy hat.  It was an inside joke of theirs, she smiled at the memory, remembering when he bought it for her.  

"My little country bumpkin," he had called her.

She had protested to the nickname at first, but that was because they had first met when she was sixteen, and such references were more insulting than adorable.  At nineteen, William C. Vaughn was indeed the most handsome city boy Grace had come across.  She had become so taken with him that they married when she turned eighteen, and at twenty, she had given birth to their only son, Michael.

-------------------------------------------------

_I remember the first day I met you  
we were so young, you were a blessing  
and there was no guessing  
you were the one  
Love is so crazy, We had a baby and said our vows  
That's when you told me should anything happen  
I can hear you now_

You told me… 

-------------------------------------------------_  
  
_

Now, she was twenty-eight, a proud housewife who diligently kept her home in order and took care of all the domestic duties while her husband was off protecting the country with his work in intelligence.

Sure, there were times when she missed him dearly, but when he came home they spent every waking moment together.  Sometimes, they stayed home and rented movies, cuddled by the fireplace that didn't work, and cooked together.  Other times, William would take her to her favorite restaurant and regal her with stories of the countries beyond and what it was like to be a CIA officer.

"Tell me the one where you were almost locked in the compression room in Bolivia."

"That one again?" he lifted his fork and pointed at her.  "Grace, you enjoy that story too much."

She laughed.  "Oh, William, please?  I can't wait until you tell Michael the story one day."

He smiled the smile that would one day replicate the one his son would have, and studied her for a moment.  Her sun-streaked blonde hair fell like soft waves, framing her face and complimenting her bright green eyes.  His were more a combination of hazel and green, but hers were like newly stained glass.  Brilliant.

"I love you, do you know that?" he took her hand and fingered the wedding band she wore.

"Oh, I love you too, honey," she gave a crooked smile and bit down on her lower lip like she always did whenever she was pleased.  "I'm just so happy that you're home again."

"Me, too." He took her hand in both of his and lifted it, kissing each knuckle.  "Listen, Grace.  If anything should ever happen to me…"

"No, never." Her eyes widened and she sat up, reached across the table and cupped his cheek.  "Please, don't say speak that way.  Nothing's going to happen to you.  The only reason why I live through each day you're away is because I hold onto the hope that you _will be home again_. Not _if_ you come home, but _when_ you come home."

"_If_ anything should happen," he stubbornly went on.  "I want you to do the best you can, okay?  Raise Michael and dream big.  You can still be anything you want to be; it's never too late to write that novel you keep telling me about.  You know, the one where the girl is a small-town country bumpkin, and she meets this hotshot city slicker?  I want you to write that story.  And I want you to know that I'll never stop loving you.  I'll be with you forever, whether or not that means I'm here physically or not…Grace, I want you to…"

Tears welled up in her eyes and though she tried to shush him, she forced herself to listen intently and heed his every word.

If anything should ever happen…

-------------------------------------------------

If the sun comes up and I'm not home,  
Be strong

If I'm not beside you,  
Do your best to carry on  
Tell the kids about me when they're old enough to understand  
Tell them that their daddy was a good man  
-------------------------------------------------

But that was years ago, when he was working special ops and going into the field.  Now, Grace stretched her arms over her back, the danger was gone.  He was still spending more time at work than she thought reasonable, but he was training other agents and planning strategic counterintelligence ops.  He usually came home every night, but during the last month or so, he had been coming home at odd hours and sometimes not at all.

It all had to do with a national threat, he had explained.  Something about an agent for an opposing agency carrying out orders to kill his colleagues.  He was trying to break the codes, save lives, and protect her and Michael.

Last night, he kissed her brow, tiredly deposited himself on their bed and promptly fell asleep.  She laid awake and turned to him.  He worked so hard, she stroked his bare back lazily.  He really should take a break… maybe I can convince him to take a vacation next week, when Michael is off school for summer break. 

That morning, after dropping Michael off at school, he made love to her slowly, taking care to enthrall his senses and increase her pleasure.  She had called out his name and nearly cried at the beauty that seemed to present itself to her each time he took her in just this manner.  Without words, he showed her time and time again the expanse of his love and let his heart pound against hers while he whispered words that swirled in her head and heart like a chant.  Never-ending and rhythmic, they took the outside world and set it ablaze with emotion.  When it finally exploded, the only music she could hear was that of his voice breathing her name.

-------------------------------------------------

First anniversary, remember we chose a star  
And as I stand I'm afraid, I can't help but wonder if  
You see it where you are  
For whatever reason, we don't see the seasons change again  
Go there with peace of mind  
We'll meet on the other side  
Cause true Love don't end  
And baby…

-------------------------------------------------

He had gone back to work then, and she had returned to her book content, knowing that this man was the only one who could ever make her world vibrant with color and laughter.  Standing, Grace took her cup and headed downstairs to refill it with more hot chocolate.

She passed the hall where pictures of her and William as children were staggered among ones of them together, some of their wedding, and others of Michael with them.  She paused and stared at their wedding picture.  William stood in his crisp tuxedo, flashing a broad, toothy smile her way as the picture immobilized her tossing flower petals in the air and twirling in circles beneath their downfall.

Smiling to herself, she lifted the pot with hot water and poured it into her mug.  Adding the packet of chocolate, she began to stir in a few mint leaves, carefully watching as each lump disintegrated.

The doorbell sounded, and puzzled, she glanced at the clock and noted that it was 12:47 p.m.

Shrugging, she took a sip and dropped the spoon in the sink.  "Be right there."

She opened the door to see two men dressed in suits and ties, and wearing sunglasses.  Behind them, she spotted a black sedan parked in their driveway with another man dressed similarly, leaning casually against the car.

"Can I help you?"  She held the cup with both hands and turned her attention to the man standing just ahead of the second man on her doorstep.

"Mrs. Vaughn?" He took off his sunglasses and waited for her nod of acknowledgement.  "My name is Jack Bristow.  I have some paperwork I need you to sign.  May we come in?"

-------------------------------------------------

If the sun comes up and I'm not home,  
Be strong

If I'm not beside you,  
Do your best to carry on  
Tell the kids about me when they're old enough to understand  
Tell them that their daddy was a good man  
-------------------------------------------------

The mug slipped from her hand and shattered on the white tile at her feet.  Paperwork.

She moved aside and the two agents walked in.  One went to the kitchen to find something to use to mop up the mess she made, and she suddenly found herself sitting on the couch.  The one named Jack Bristow was talking to her, calmly and methodically, but she wasn't listening.  The world blurred and faded and came to a crashing end.  Abruptly, everything was black, and she never heard her son run in and scream.

-------------------------------------------------

Two eyes looking up at me  
Pointing to the picture like "Where is he?  
Momma, are you OK?  
What did the paper say  
To make you cry that way?"  
It said your daddy lived for you  
and your daddy died for you  
and I'll do the same…

Now baby, if the sun comes up and I'm not home,

Be strong

If I'm not beside you,

Do your best to carry on.

Tell the kids about me when they're old enough to understand,

Tell them that their daddy was a good man

-------------------------------------------------  
  



	2. Chapter Two

**Title: If…**

**Author: Ambrose Chavez**

**Email: agent47achavez@hotmail.com**

**Category: general**

**Spoilers: s1**

**Rating: pg13 for sexual references**

**Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters are not mine.  They're JJ's, but they're on my Christmas list!**

**Notes: Takes place in the past. **

'Ship:  William C. Vaughn/Grace Michelle Vaughn 

**Summary:  If anything should happen to me… **

**A/N: one parter… turned series.**

It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

When she came to, Grace perused the paperwork and diligently signed each page.  She offered a wobbly smile to her eight-year-old and politely asked that he play in his room while she finished talking to the men in the living room.

Jack Bristow went on explaining, his voice flat and emotionless.  "Naturally, we cannot give you the details regarding William's…passing, but we will provide the funds for a proper burial.  You should know that you will be given a flag for his years of service with the agency.  Of course he will be commemorated with a star on the wall at Langley.  A star will also be added to the book, but due to the nature of his service, we cannot reveal his name in the space provided."

Grace blindly nodded through the lecture, one she was sure this man had given a hundred times before judging by his monotone.

Damn him.  William had a face, a name, a life, a child.  He had her!  And this man was here delivering the news as if they were discussing the most boring subject ever.

"We thought it best to remove your son from school early, and took the privilege to do so.  The ensuing curiosity and public interest would put him and yourself at risk.  You or your son could be easily become a target simply for your connection to William."

She sniffled and let a few more tears escape before she closed the manila folder with great care and looked up at him.

"Mr. Bristow, I have just lost my husband and my best friend." She took a moment to wipe her nose.  "I don't believe you understand the gravity of emotions that are at war within me at this very second.  Half of what you've just recited has gone in one ear and out the other."

Briefly clearing his throat and averting his eyes, he spoke.  "Yes, well.  I'm very sorry for—"

"Oh hell, you're sorry." Her voice turned ragged with passion.  "You don't know what it's like.  He was just another asset, another agent.  A colleague, maybe, but nothing more than that.  You used him and now that he's been 'dispensed', you're stuck with the unpleasant task of informing his family.  It's that clean-cut for you.  Now, it's done with, and you've done your damn job.  I, on the other hand, have to live the rest of my life knowing that my William is never coming home again.  I will never have another opportunity to say 'I love you'.  I will never be able to hold him in my arms and watch our son grow up…"

"William Vaughn was a colleague, yes." He admitted.  "But he was a friend as well.  He was a good strategist and a good man.  What he did for the agency – what he sacrificed – will not go forgotten or underestimated.  He was a very important man, and we'll miss him."

Grace's tears fell like rainwater slipping on glass, freely and continuously.  One of the two agents standing off to the side brought her tissue, and she took it, blowing her nose.

"We have to ask you one more thing," Jack hesitated.

"You've already taken my husband's life, I hardly think one last question is going to matter."

"We'll need for you and your son to enter into our Witness Protection Program temporarily."

"Excuse me?"

"Because William was privy to intel that resulted in his… unfortunate accident, we have to assume that you and your son are possible targets."

"You already went over that."

"Yes, I know.  But what I'm saying is, Mrs. Vaughn," he leaned forward.  "we need for you to remove Michael from the public school system, we'll need to relocate your residence, change your names—"

"I hardly think you reserve the right to ask such a thing!"

"You really have no choice." Jack leaned back and picked up the manila folder.

"What?"

"William may have told you something that the people who facilitated his execution are looking for."

"I assure you, Mr. Bristow, I know nothing.  My husband kept his business affairs to himself, for the most part.  Whatever he told me was in the vaguest of ways, never in detail.  I know nothing of value."

"It doesn't matter.  The people who did this may think you know something and come after you or your son."

Grace chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated this.  "Live completely different lives?"

"Yes.  There is a CIA-commissioned school that your son may attend.  It's heavily guarded and he'll be among other children who are or have been in similar situations."

"I'd rather not." She stood.  "If I choose to comply with this ludicrous proposal, it will be on my terms."

"I'm afraid that's non-negotiable, Mrs. Vaughn."

"Make it negotiable, Mr. Bristow, or me and my son will continue our lives as we've been living it." She bit out.

"I agree that you should attempt to make things as normal as possible for your son, but do you understand that his life could possibly be in danger?"  Jack stood, face to face with her, his patience wearing thin.

"And do you understand that I do not want my third grader exposed to life of fear?  A life in which he attends a school where every adult is heavily armed and trained to kill?  I never wanted him to live a life without his father, and now he has to.  I think that's already asking too much from an eight-year-old boy, Mr. Bristow."

"I understand your concern, but—"

"No." Grace held out his pen and defiantly stared him in the eye.

Inwardly sighing, Jack warily asked, "Should the DCI agree to consider your terms, what precisely would you require?"

"Our names are not to be changed.  It's the one link Michael has to his father, and he's going to keep it.  My son will not attend a 'CIA-commissioned school'.  Instead, he will be home-schooled by me.  I'll accept the relocation and other such minor changes."

Jack deftly nodded and carefully added, "I'll try to do what I can, Mrs. Vaughn.  I respected and admired your husband for his work and his commitment to the agency.  I wish things had turned out differently."

That's my husband, she thought sadly.  Always the company man, willing to accept orders and comply with set rules.

Pausing just before he opened the door, Jack turned to face her one more time.  "Do you happen to know if William kept any memoirs?  Personal journals or something of that likeness?"

She shrugged.  "Yeah, of course."

"Burn it."

Arching one brow, Grace crossed her arms.  "Mr. Bristow, do you have any children?"

A lopsided half-smile tugged at his lips, something Grace found strangely charming.  "Just one, only a few months old."

"Then you will understand why I'm going to refuse that request."

His smile faltered.

She continued, "My son has nothing else tangible to hold to when he grows to be a man.  William's memoirs are the only pages – snapshots or glimpses, if you will – that will help him understand and get to know who his father was."

"Then I suggest you find a secure place to keep it."

With that, Jack and his two assistants exited the house and drove off in their Government Issue automobile.  Grace then let the impact of her loss absorb into her, and she stretched out over the couch and purged her sorrow with tears.  Minutes later, Michael peeked out of his room and saw her lying there.  Venturing out, he touched her shoulder lightly and in a small voice, he called to her.

"Mommy?"

She turned and gathered him into her arms wordlessly.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" his voice wavered the way it did when he woke from a nightmare.  Fear, she noted grimly, had already taken its root.  He only called her 'Mommy' when he was scared.  Now that he was eight, he was more accustomed to calling her 'Mom'.

"Oh, honey," she sat up, pulled him into her lap and rocked back and forth.  "I don't know how to say it."

He swallowed hard.  "Is it Dad?"

"Yes, sweetie," she tried again to stabilize her voice and calm the torrent of pain.

"Those were Dad's friends from work.  They told me that I had to come home early today because Dad wanted me to."

"Is that what they said?"

He nodded.  "They said that Dad had to fight some bad people, but he lost."

Grace started to cry all over again.  "Oh, baby.  Do you understand what they were telling you?"

He only shook his head no.  "Are you crying because Dad lost the fight?"

"Yes, honey, I'm crying because Dad lost the fight."  She tried to find the words, the expressions.  

What do you say to your eight-year-old when his father is gone?  How do you tell him that he's never coming home to practice his hockey shot, or that he won't be able to take him to the Laker game like he promised?  What do you say when you're trying to help him understand that?

"Honey, do you remember when Dad used to tell you that story about how sometimes when people get to be grown up, they have to leave for a while?"

"Like on vacation?"

"No, not like on vacation.  Like when someone moves away for a really long time to a far, far place and we can't visit them anymore?"

"Are we moving?" he looked at her, his hazel-green eyes just like his father's.  His face was solemn, his voice shakier.

"Yes, but that's not what I mean."  Looking up to the ceiling, she silently begged William for the words.  "Remember when we had that puppy, Mitchell?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you remember how Mitchell liked to wander in the street?  And how that one day when he wandered outside, he didn't come back?"

Michael's eyes began to fill, mirroring her own.  "Dad said he had to go to heaven."

Grace nodded, pursing her lips together and tried to swallow the large, salty lump constricting her throat.  "Dad went to heaven too, honey.  You're daddy went to heaven too."

He rested his head on the curve of her neck and cried, and she with him.  For a long while, they remained motionless, comforting each other in their grief and waiting… just waiting for tomorrow.


	3. Chapter Three

**IF: chapter 3**

Alone.  She just wanted to be alone.  

After spending a day telling her friends and family that she was moving to a quieter, safer area after what happened with William – who most thought was an airline pilot for American Airlines.  She spun lies and stories, recited the words she memorized from the manila folder Jack had left with her.  It was a sound explanation for William's death – an unfortunate accident with a drunk driver in West Virginia.  But it elicited sympathetic looks, cards and care.  It also required a great amount of effort on her part.

For two weeks, she had to scrape the shards of her life together and repeatedly remind herself to lie.  It wasn't something that came naturally to her, but she grew accustomed to it.

"Yes, I'm moving to Chestnut Haven to be away from the city for a while.  It's a smaller town, much like the one I grew up in.  Michael will be happy there."

Alone in her bathroom, the words repeated endlessly and bitterly in her mind.  She felt a shiver run though her body and wrack her with pent-up grief.

Chestnut Haven is a local city, but you will not be moving there.  You'll only tell people that you're going there.  You'll move to Puget Sound, it's under 24-hour surveillance. (Jack)

_Honey, I'm so sorry.  Is there anything I can do help?  Do you want me to help you pack up your things? (Mom)_

_Your possessions will be shipped to this address in Chestnut Haven, and a dummy apartment will be set up should your family and friends decide to stop by unexpectedly.  That apartment will be watched for unusual activity. (Jack)_

_Fate has a weird way of bringing things about, Grace.  If it was his time to go, then so be it.  You know, his horoscope for that day said to be weary of travel… perhaps if William heeded the stars. (Trish, William's eclectic older sister)_

_You are free to select where you want William's burial to take place.  You must take care of this immediately.  Documents have been fabricated in West Virginia, adding William to the list of casualties in a devastating car crash involving three cars and two other deaths.  (Jack)_

Mom, can I sleep with you tonight? (Michael)

With one hand gripping the Daniels bottle and the other dangling in the water, she threw her head back and finished the last of the alcohol before she dragged herself up and stared at the pale yellow towels next to her.  Embroidered in white thread in loopy script was a single word for each towel: _His.  Hers._

Tears stung her eyes once more and she let out an anguish cry, flinging the bottle at the wall.  It hit, cracked, and splintered on the floor.  A medium-sized indent broke the wall's plaster, but she didn't care.  She dropped her head down low, brought her knees to her chin and sobbed.

Across the hall, Michael had been drawing a picture of his family with a blue crayon.  His blonde head jerked up at the sound of her scream coupled with shattered glass.  Fear suddenly overcame him and he toppled his chair in his haste.

"Mom?" he called out, sticking his head over the banister to see downstairs.  Glass.  The kitchen, maybe.

No.  She was crying again, he thought.  Mom only cries in the bathroom.

Cautiously approaching the master bedroom door, he drew the door open and stepped inside.  The sound of his mother's sorrow emanated from the bathroom, but he suddenly didn't want to enter.

He began to feel the tears burning behind his eyes, and he swallowed hard once as he placed his hand on the door, which was slightly ajar, and hesitated.

"William, William… why did you have to leave me?  Please, God, tell me what I did to deserve this!" Her voice was thin, hardly one he recognized.

Slowly, he opened the door, and saw her on the floor – his super-mom, the one woman who could do anything from saving the day with a peanut butter and jelly-cucumber sandwich to sewing up his cuts and lightening his bruises whenever he fell.  But this wasn't super-mom.  This was broken mom.  Fractured.

He heard the word once, when he was six and he fell of his bike.  His arm hurt a lot, and the doctor told him he had fractured it.  He broke a bone.  Mom had a broken heart.  He knew because he overheard Aunt Trish tell Brandy Buck from across the street.

"Mommy?" his voice shook, his lip quivered.  He blinked.  Mommy's hurt, he knew because if having a broken arm hurt, having a broken heart must hurt more.  But he didn't know how to make it better.  Maybe a cast could help her like his did.  Maybe the doctor could make it all better.

A small gasp passed from between her parted lips, and she looked up at him, her face wet with salty tears, her hair in tangle.  The water was running behind her, she had forgotten.  He twisted it off, using both hands because it was hard to do with only one.

He tried to smile at her, but it came out like a wobbly twitch.  She sniffed and wiped her face.

"Yes, baby?  Do you need something?"

_I need you_, he thought, but didn't say.  So he shook his head no.

She smiled, but he saw right through it.  "Okay, honey.  I'm sorry.  I'm just a little upset that's all.  I needed to cry a little."

"For Dad." He concluded.

"For Dad." She agreed with a nod.

He looked away, lifted one hand and fingered the towel marked _His_.  Not looking at her, he only said, "It's not your fault Dad's gone to heaven."

He heard her draw a breath sharply.

"Oh, honey."

He turned to her now, threw his arms around her neck and whispered, "I love you."

Grace's arms bounded around his small frame and held him close.  God, her son… the one blessing she had left.  Her son, the only key to her salvation and sanity.  Her only hope.  Her single lifeline.  Her son.

She stroked his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"We'll be okay, honey.  We'll be okay," she said over and over, but she knew she was saying more for her own benefit than his.

***

Life in Puget Sound wasn't as grim and horrible as she thought it would be.

The apartment was tidy and sparsely furnished with classical style pieces.  She gave up her King sized bed for a full, and she usually had vivid dreams of William and the unseen murderer.  They were bloody nightmares that seized her and wouldn't grant her release until she saw him lying a pool of his own entrails, barely resembling the man she knew to be William Vaughn.

She often woke up screaming, shaking, and sweaty.  Instead of her comforting her son with his grief, which he carefully concealed in his attempt to be strong for her, he came running to her aid night after night.

"Mom, I'll stay with you tonight," he would say, both knowing it would happen again the next night and the night after that.

And he would.  He'd fall asleep with his head tucked under her arm, mouth open, his hair just gazing the top of his forehead.  She, on the other hand, wouldn't sleep for the remainder of the night, often staring at the starlight that shined just outside her window.

How did it come to this? She asked herself quietly.  How will I ever cope?

Another two weeks passed, and the dreams still came, always in the same form, always with the same ending.  She finally had to fess up and contact Jack Bristow.

"Bristow here," he said curtly.

"Mr. Bristow.  This is Grace Vaughn." She sighed, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose.  "I need to talk to someone."

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I can't sleep."

He was silent a moment.  "I see."

"I'm having dreams.  Horrible dreams, and I can't tell you about them now." She glanced at her son, who was busily arranging his hot wheels and other toys – all the ones she realized his father had chosen.

"I understand."

"Is there someone I can talk to?"

"The CIA has trained psychologists in your vicinity.  I can call and schedule and appointment if you like."  He offered.

She thought about it briefly before she sheepishly asked, "You said you had a child.  Am I to assume that you also have a wife?"

"Yes, I do."

"Would she mind it much if I called her and talked to her for a bit?"

"I don't think that would be a problem.  But she's an English professor, not a psychologist."

Grace sighed.  "I really would prefer not to speak with a shrink.  I'd just feel… a little crazier than I already do.  I appreciate the offer, but I was hoping that I could leave Michael with your wife for a few hours while I went out and cleared my head."

"You want her to babysit?"

Her cheeks pinkened.  It sounded so incredulous when he said it.  "I know that I don't know you very well, and I don't know your wife at all, but I have no one else to turn to, and I won't leave him here alone."

"Sure." He said.  "It'll be fine.  I'll call Laura and let her know."

"Oh, I could do it if you just give me the number.  I know you're a busy man – just as William was busy."  There was a whisper of longing in her voice when she mentioned her husband, and Jack felt sorry for her.  Her loss was great, and he couldn't imagine what it must be like to lose your spouse, lover, and friend.

After he gave her the number, she hung up and dialed the woman named Laura Bristow.


End file.
